


Our Stories Intertwined

by Whizzers_Ass



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Anxiety, Body Dysphoria, Body Swap, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-22 06:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30034173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whizzers_Ass/pseuds/Whizzers_Ass
Summary: Two teenagers different in every way. One a stuttering mess who thinks too much, the other an aggressive powder keg who acts without thinking. Despite being day and night, fate has driven them on the same path to self destruction, leading both of them to decide to take their lives on the same night. Evan and Connor both end up in the same park that night, both with the same purpose.However, in some slight of hand by the universe, the two of them swap bodies and struggle to live the other's lives, and try to find out what they were missing before.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING that this fic will cover a lot of sensitive subjects such as depression, suicide, feelings of body dysphoria, and other subjects that are sensitive, so adding this in addition to the tags if these are possibly triggering towards you.  
> -Author's Note (feel free to skip, a personal update)  
> Hey! so it's been a while since I've posted, and I've gone through a lot. I've decided to get back into fanfiction to help cope. A lot of this are personal subjects that I've been struggling with, especially feelings of body dysphoria. I'm hoping that this sort of escape can help other people as well, and if not this will still have been done for me. Please reach out to someone if you need to and are able to.

It's a strange feeling you have before you fall. An even stranger one when you’re the one pushing yourself off. Almost detached from reality, the midnight park wind blowing on your face but not quite touching you, but yet hyper aware of everything: the fabric of your clothes touching your skin; each strand of hair lightly brushing your forehead; your toes curled in your worn out socks, socks that should have been replaced long ago but continue to fight on out of sheer forgetfulness. The constant thud of your heart. The dull ringing of it pumping, each burst electrifying the body.

It was no time for Evan to be out on a school night. No, he should be at home, in his bed because he swore that he was going to fall asleep early but couldn’t stand to hear the voices in his head, so of course the solution was to watch documentaries until his body simply gave up. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, he wasn’t sure if he was even conscious. All he knew was that he left the house at 1:30 on the dot, he couldn’t be late to his own date. His dance with the wind below him as he fell, and eventually the ground. But he hoped he wouldn’t feel the ground hit him. He failed last time, he couldn’t fail again. Explaining one broken arm isn’t too bad, but a second one weeks after the first isn’t ideal. 

It was awful what he was doing, he knew. The first time was bad enough, the next morning in the hospital bed feeling sick to his stomach should have been enough to stop him. But he couldn’t deal anymore. Only the first day of school had passed. _Senior year, whoo_. If every day was going to be like that first one, he wasn’t sure how he would be able to handle it. So why not simply avoid it? He had no one, nothing. His dad might as well have been on a different planet, Jared made it very clear how he felt. There was his mom, he supposed, although between her shifts at the hospital and her classes, was she really there? 

The park was an alien landscape at night. During the day, there would be dogs racing through the grass. Children would run with their parents, and lovers would walk hand in hand. Completely opposite of what Evan saw now. It was completely abandoned, the only motion the wind playing in the leaves. His footsteps were much too loud in the silent night. There was a certain place he had in mind, a certain tree in a clearing. It was the same tree that he used to have family picnics under, long long ago when his dad was still around and his mom paid attention. He didn’t fail to see the irony in his chosen location.

Evan knew the path by heart, and even in the dim light of the newly waxing moon he had no trouble finding his way to the clearing. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊶

His hands trembled. Tears threatened to pour, but he wiped them away with his tattered sweater sleeve. The sweater was long overdue for a wash, although he knew that it wouldn’t be dirtied anymore. Not after tonight. Connor picked at the splintering wooden bench, chipping his black nail polish even further. His hand was bony, pale from hiding in his room all day, thin from one too many skipped meals. His nose was red and his eyes burned, trying to fight the urge to cry. 

In his other hand were several pills.

They were his exit ticket.

Connor swore at himself. He told himself that this was long overdue, that he should have done this years ago. He’s been nothing but a burden, something that you just had to deal with.  _ Oh don’t mind Connor, he was probably off getting high somewhere _ . They weren’t lying. All of his family knew what was best for him. So he would do just what they hoped. No longer be a burden on their picture perfect family, the neighbors who seemed too good to be true. They were of course, they never spoke of their son. So they won’t need to anymore.

He looked at the stars above him, each one a brilliant display of fire. Raging and violent, a ball of fury before dying in a brilliant display. Soon he would be among them. 

Connor tightened his grip, running his fingers over the smooth texture of the pills. A simple swallow and he would be gone. 

A branch broke behind him.

He whipped his head around. A clumsy figure emerged from the bushes, muttering curses under its breath. Connor pocketed the pills and hunched over, hoping to not be noticed. Or at least be ignored. Just another delinquent trespassing in the park, up to no good. He just hoped that this poor soul wouldn’t have to be the one to find him. His thoughts momentarily to that idea, the thought of someone stumbling upon him the next morning. Would they even notice? Or would they leave him?

Cumbersome footsteps brought him back. Connor sunk even further, resting his chin onto his chest and drew his hood to hide his face. 

“Oh excuse me.” The figure talked, breathless and quick. A twinge of embarrassment even. Something about that voice was familiar. It was a young voice, masculine, but he didn’t care enough to pinpoint it. “I’m so sorry to bother you.” A slight hesitation. “I’m sorry for talking to you.” The figure hurried, shuffling alongside the bench. And tripped over Connor’s outstretched foot. Connor flinched, and a sudden jabbing pain struck his chest.

He opened his eyes to feel himself on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Connor’s thoughts were first clouded by the sudden pain, thoughts scrambled as he tried to ground himself. Where the pain came from was his first thought. He was just sitting on the bench when the person tripped over him. And then why was he on the floor? Was he pulled down onto the ground when the person tripped? 

As his breathing grew more steady, he managed to throw out a simple  _ Fuck _ . But he didn’t. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t his voice. Pain, now confusion, now panic. He got onto his knees and looked down, feeling at his chest. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t his shirt. He never owned jeans like that before. A cast hugged his left arm, a single word could be made out despite the poor lighting: Connor. Wind chilled his neck, something he hadn’t felt for a very long time. His hands went up to his hair, which was now nicely cut at his ears.

“Fuck. fuck fuck fuck.” He repeated this over and over, the stranger’s voice ringing in his ears. Although it wasn’t a stranger. The voice belonged to none other than Evan fucking Hansen, which now belonged to Connor Murphy. He stared up in panic at the bench where he was sitting to find he was still sitting there. Connor was still sitting at that bench, admiring his hands. He flexed them, over and over, turning them back and forth over and over.

Whatever was happening, this was impossible. He was probably having a bad trip. Yes, that was it, he rationed. He was really still sitting on that park bench, high as could be. But this felt too real. His thoughts were too clear, the concrete path too cold on his thighs. A simple cry for help was all he could manage. 

“Hello?” This was all wrong. Connor spoke, away from his body and in another voice. His body flinched, turning his attention to now Connor. The face was one of pure terror, but the most frightening part of it was how tired he looked. His hair flew in all directions, skin dull and void of any color, eyes puffy from crying. 

Connor on the bench spoke “what-what happened?” He picked at the rips in his jeans, not torn in a factory but torn from spending nights in empty parks and random street corners, torn from sheer negligence. 

“You’re Evan, right?”

The Connor on the bench, or rather  _ Evan _ nodded. 

Connor laughed, not from humor but of anger. “Of course. Evan. Who else would be out here in a park at this hour? Came to talk more about my sister, huh? Fucking creep.” He stood up from the ground, running his fingers through his hair. It was wrong. So very wrong. His hair was too short. Evan’s fingers weren’t as long and slender, they were clunkier and heavy. Everything felt wrong. “You know, you just can’t seem to leave me alone for a guy who seems to hate my guts.”

Evan stood up from the bench. “No no no no it’s not like that, I don’t hate you, you see it's all really just a misunderstanding. You see I-” To hear those words from his own voice but for them to not be his own. It's an invasive feeling, to see yourself act and behave out of someone else’s will. 

“Listen Evan, I don’t know what your fucking deal is or why you keep bothering me. This is all probably just some bad trip I’m having. I’m probably off somewhere getting high off my ass and  _ this  _ is all the product of that.” Connor’s attention turned back to his body. It's not really his body, his borrowed body. Or whatever this was. Evan was a few inches shorter than Connor, and now everything felt wrong. The trees were too tall, the bench too large. This wasn’t his body, why was he here?

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊶

Connor was the complete opposite of Evan. Connor was brash and angry, loud and disruptive. He had a reputation, although for all the wrong reasons. Painted nails and long hair was something that Evan had never thought of in his life, and his weathered combat boots mocked Evan’s worn out sneakers. And now he found himself in the life of Connor. On that park bench, his hands transfixed him. His fingers were long and bony, and nail polish was a foreign concept. Untamed hair fell into his face, and tickled the end of his neck. 

And then his old body started screaming at him. The sight of “Evan” so aggressive was simply wrong. Somehow, his soft body was able to be threatening, as Connor rambled on about who knows what. Evan wasn’t paying attention. He could barely think. This was simply impossible. This might have been some sort of crazed dream, where he would wake up tomorrow and head to another day of fighting through the school day.

Or maybe he was dead. Maybe this was some sort of hell that he wound up in. Cursed to live the rest of his life as his classmate before dying once more. There was worse hells he supposed.

But he knew he wasn’t dreaming. He was too lucid to be dreaming. And he wasn’t sure what hell felt like, but he doubted it was taking over the body of Connor.

He snapped back to reality. Connor was still ranting, although more to himself than an audience now. Evan looked at his new hands, pulling at the loose threads in the jeans. A terrible nervous habit he had. But he was picking someone else’s jeans with someone else’s hands. This wasn’t right. Everything was wrong. His heart started racing-or would it be Connor’s heart?

“Connor.” Evan said. He interrupted his madman speech, and his eyes were wild, unhinged. It was wrong to see that in Evan’s body. “Connor. I don’t know what’s going on. But whatever it is, we need to fix it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Connor looked at Evan. Connor looked at himself, standing there, so unsure. Shoulders hunched over, hands jumping like fleas. Had he always looked like that? Was this how other people saw him?

“Listen, I don’t know what’s happening, but we need to figure out something” Evan repeated. Evan ran his fingers through his now long hair, coiling locks of unwashed hair between his lithe fingers.

Connor shook his head. “I don’t know what you want me to do, but please enlighten me. I’m stuck in your body, your in mine, how the fuck did we even get here? What do you expect me to do?”

Evan looked on the verge of tears. “Well I don’t know either, okay? But I’m not exactly happy right now either.” He laughed nervously. Connor flinched at the laugh, taking it almost as a personal attack for someone else to be using his body and his voice.

“Fuck, what time is it?” Connor reached into his pockets to pull out his phone, panicking for a brief second when he couldn’t feel it, before he realized that it was no longer in his possession. “What were you even doing up at this time anyways? I didn’t think a goody two shoes like you would be out at the park at this ungodly hour.”

“That doesn’t matter why I was out here. What matters is what's happening right now.” Evan reached into his pockets, and froze for a second, brief panic taking over him. “What happens tomorrow? We have school tomorrow. And then there’s my mom, I can’t go back to my house looking like this, I can’t live my life anymore. She won’t believe me if I tell her this is me. And then all of my classes, what am I supposed to do? And then none of my clothes are gonna fit me, what am I supposed to wear? And then my-”

“Can you shut the fuck up? You’re not making this any better by having a breakdown.” Connor sighed. “We don’t know what caused this. We don’t know how long this is going to last for. And I’m too tired to deal with whatever bullshit is going on. What’s your address?”

“My-my address? Uh, I don’t know if I should really be giving you my address, I mean-”

“Listen. I’m literally in your body right now. I don’t think normal boundaries apply. I just need to go to sleep right now. I’m too tired to deal with this right now. We just need to get through tomorrow, and hopefully this is fixed in the morning.” 

Evan looked even more panicked, but sighed and agreed. The two traded addresses and phone numbers, Connor took his phone back and promised to give Evan his phone at school the next day. Then they both parted ways, each one hoping the morning will wake them up from the nightmare they’re living. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊶

Evan knew of Connor’s neighborhood. Everyone knew this neighborhood, they knew the large well kept lawns and sweeping driveways, and the nosy neighbors that watched every pedestrian like a predator watching its prey. In short, they had money. As he entered the neighborhood, it was almost as if the houses tried to mock him. Shiny new cars were in each driveway, not a single driveway had a single car in it. Every lawn seemed to be the size of Evan’s bedroom alone. He felt so out of place, walking down the sidewalk under the harsh light of the street lamps. Every step he took was as if he was walking deeper into the infinite pool of discomfort. His legs were way too long, each step seemed far too long. And his arm was free. The cloth of his jacket rubbed against his bare arm, a feeling he hadn’t felt in so long. He almost felt bad for Connor, who was now walking home with a cast on his left arm. Although the selfish, greedy part of him was glad he finally had that sweat trap off his arm again. And then he immediately felt guilty again, and scolded himself for feeling that way.

A puddle of warm light fell onto the sidewalk. He looked up and saw a middle aged couple sitting on their porch, in each other’s arms. Their door was opened, and a sliver of something out of a pottery barn magazine greeted him. He turned his attention back to the couple, who threw dirty looks at Evan and whispered to each other. He saw the man pull his partner closer to him, and give Evan one last glare before whispering into his partner’s ear. The whole experience was otherworldly, but lasted for only a couple seconds. That reaction was something that he never incited before. He looked back down at his hands, the pale skinny hands and the chipped nail polish. Evan looked further down at his boots, worn out combat boots that added an extra inch or two to his already impressive height.

Connor had always intimidated Evan. Everything about him screamed  _ don’t mess with me _ . And now he had that power. 

It was almost exciting.

The sidewalk came to a cul-de-sac, the house on his left belonging to the Murphy's. Or at least he hoped, from what he remembered Connor telling him. Evan checked the address multiple times every few minutes, making sure he didn’t break into a stranger’s house. Although he supposed that's what he was doing.

Just go through the front door, that's what Connor told him. He wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe some parkouring through some windows and on the roof. Just barging through the front door seemed too rash. Connor was a rash person though, he reasoned. His hand shook as he opened the door, the slight squeak seemed to echo through his entire body. A hallway greeted him, perfectly decorated as if in a sitcom. Family photos hung on the wall, a  _ live laugh love  _ sign in the middle. The light was on in the hallway, and an older man was sitting on a loveseat.

“Connor, your mom told me to wait for you to come back. It’s past 2 am, and you're just coming home? We talked about this, you have school tomorrow, you can’t just leave randomly and come back whenever you feel like it.”

Evan started stammering, trying to defend himself from this stranger he presumed to be Connor’s dad but not quite finding the words.

“Don’t try to defend yourself, it hasn’t worked before. Are you high?”

Evan struggled to find words, the room beginning to close on him.

“Of course you’re fucking high. Connor, you can’t keep doing this.” The man sighed, rubbing his temples. “I have work tomorrow, I need to go to bed. Your mother will talk to you about this. Just go to bed, son.” Connor’s dad sighed, and walked up the stairs, leaving Evan alone in the hallway. 

Thoughts were still racing, his heart going a million miles an hour. Did Connor’s dad really wait until this hour, just for him? That was unheard of in his household.

He just needed to find Connor’s bedroom. He was in the final stretch. Evan followed his dad upstairs, his boots screaming against the sleek wooden floors. The bedroom down the hall was the only instructions he got.  _ You’ll know it when you see it _ . He followed the hallway opposite the master bedroom, eyeing each door. Most of the doors were shut tight and quiet, but one had a ribbon of light poking out from underneath it.

_ Zoe’s room. _

He hadn’t even thought about Zoe. How he would be living in the bedroom down the hall from her. A faint moment of butterflies overtook him before he realized that he wasn’t Evan anymore. Then a moment of repulsion overcame him, and he continued down the hall.

The next door was slightly ajar, and the final door in the hallway. Evan entered the room and shut the door behind him as he scrambled to find the light switch in this new room. His fingers finally found it, and he switched it on, glaring at the sudden change in brightness. As his eyes became more adjusted, he noticed more and more about the room. The first was the mess. Clothes were thrown haphazardly on the ground, old cups and wrappers littered any surface. The next he noticed was the bookshelf. It was huge, with books of all shapes and sizes thrown onto it. Some books laid open, some were piled on top of each other and some never made it back on the shelfs, a couple tossed at the base of the shelf. A built in closet was left open, revealing a wardrobe primarily consisting of blacks. Again, it followed the same trends of the rest of the house, with clothes on the floor, some only halfway hung, some piled on the hanging clothes. The state of Connor’s room wasn’t a shocker, although it was still distressing to see in person. 

Evan pulled off his boots, impressing himself with the size of his feet. Not sure where to put them, he threw them into the closet. Despite being in place with the rest of the messy room, he couldn't help but to feel guilty. Evan reached once more into his pockets, and felt another wave of panic as his fingers touched something smooth. He pulled it out, revealing a handful of pills. He wasn’t sure exactly what they were for, or how long they had been there, but they made him feel sick. Always the good kid, the teacher’s pet who would do nothing wrong and had never so much even seen anyone under the influence. It was a strange feeling, holding a completely different world in your hand that was the size of a few tic tacs. What the pills even did, he wasn’t sure. He would rather not find out. But he had to discard them. He went back into the hallway, passed Zoe’s room, and opened the next door, assuming it to be a bathroom. He was correct, and locked the door behind him. Evan flipped on the lights and dumped the pills in the toilet and flushed them down. A stupid idea, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. Throw the pills in the trash and risk getting caught? He almost cried when Connor’s dad started to scold him, how could he take the fall for drugs? 

Chills ran up his spine, and his stomach started to turn. Evan looked in the mirror, and Connor looked back at him. For the first time, the switch truly hit him. Instead of soft rounded features, sharp angles now made up his face. He had heavy eyebags, and not enough color in his face. His hair was down to his shoulders, and he was too tall. This wasn’t his body. He grew even more nauseous, and turned away from the mirror, unable to look at himself, or whoever this stranger was. He turned off the lights so he didn’t see himself. He unlocked the door and crept back into his room. He shot Zoe’s room another glance as he slunk by, but hurried as fast as he could. Evan didn’t dare to change his clothes, and crawled into the unmade bed and tried to fall asleep, although he knew that such a task would be impossible.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊶

Connor had never heard of Evan’s neighborhood. Granted, geography wasn’t his strong suit, but each street took him further and further into the unknown, until he eventually found Evan’s house. It was a modest house, with a quaint little lawn that hasn’t been properly cared for in a while and the flanking houses a little too close for comfort. Evan had given Connor his pair of house keys, and he entered the house. It was strange seeing his house. The house was much more modest than Connor’s house, and messier. Something that his mom would have never let fly. 

The plates left on the dining table, the slightly dusty photos, it was almost comforting. It felt more like a home than the picture perfect appearance that his mom tried to keep up. The house was completely silent. No waiting parent to scold him for staying out again, no sister to glare at him as he stumbles through the hallway. Something so foreign to him. Connor headed upstairs to Evan’s bedroom, taking in the new house. The off-white carpet and plain walls brought him to his new room, down at the end of the hall. The one thing that he shared with Evan. 

Evan’s room was clean, everything put away nicely. The only thing that had been left out was his laptop on his desk, some word document open, most likely a school assignment. Connor shut down the laptop without a second thought, pulled off Evan’s off brand sneakers, and tossed them under his bed. He had to do a double take. Under the bed was a completely different story. Clothes, shoes, old childhood toys, books, anything and everything was shoved under the bed, hidden and out of sight. Connor shook his head, almost as if he found Evan’s terrible secret. He got back up, and stared down at this new body. It wasn’t Evan’s body anymore, but it wasn’t exactly Connor’s other. The body felt detached, as if he was just piloting someone else’s body. Although that’s what he was doing, he supposed. Thoughts were jumbled, he was too tired to deal with whatever was going on. He pulled off his shirt, and stared down at his chest. It was soft, although not overweight. Just soft in a lack of any muscle definition, with enough meat to cover any bones poking through. Connor wasn’t athletic, far from it, but often forgot to eat meals or just skipped them, and as a result was more angular and bony than this. It was a strange feeling, to look down at your body but not have it yours. 

Connor sighed and slipped into Evan’s twin sized bed, and hoped that whatever was happening was some bad trip that some sleep would cure.


	3. Chapter 3

The chirp of an alarm clock woke Connor up much too early. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but whatever it was it was at least an hour before what he considered an acceptable time to wake up. When was the last time he set his alarm clock up? He was too groggy to recall, but he knew it had been ages. Was it even plugged in? He rolled over to snooze it, but his arm flailed in empty air where his clock should have been. With a groan, he begrudgingly opened one eye. A slight panic overtook him when he didn’t recognize the room, but the events of last night came back to him. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. 

Connor’s left arm was incredibly sore. He looked over to it and sighed. A cast, Evan had a cast. How could he forget. His own name was plastered in bold letters, mocking him of his old body. How you were supposed to sleep with a cast was beyond him, but clearly he did it wrong. 

The alarm still blared, and Connor jumped out of Evan’s twin sized bed to shut it off. 6:00. The earliest he had woken up in years. Normally, he would roll out of bed as late as possible, barely awake at the breakfast table. Instead, Evan preferred to get up at the ass-crack of dawn. Wonderful. He muttered obscenities under his breath and stumbled over to Evan’s drawers, and started scavenging through them, searching for something to wear. He was too tired to process the events going on, too tired to freak out at events that should have caused some alarm. His head throbbed and his thoughts were scattered, dreading the day before him. Not necessarily because of the switch, Connor had enough issues of his own without some supernatural powers causing him to switch places with a classmate he barely knew. Of course of anyone it could have been, it was Evan.

The guy who wrote that creepy letter about his sister.  _ God really went fuck this guy in particular _ , he thought. He ran into the guy while trying to kill himself, and now he’s rummaging through the guy’s underwear drawer. Connor sank down on his knees, and rested his head against a pulled out drawer. This was the first time he was truly able to process last night’s events. Everything that happened from the time Connor sent the text asking for the pills to that very moment.

And he started to cry. He tried to hold it back, tried to repress those feelings, but he couldn’t stomp them down any longer. All he wanted to do was to be numb at that moment. Numb from those feelings, feelings left over from last night and the feelings that sprung up that morning. He couldn’t even get high. He wasn’t in his room, so he didn’t have the means to, plus this wasn’t his body anymore. Fucking up his own body he could handle, but he would feel guilty fucking up someone else’s body.

A knock on the door brought him out of his head. He wiped his tears away and continued to dig through the dresser, burying his face into the clothes so his puffy eyes wouldn’t be noticed.

“Evan, honey, can I come in?” A feminine voice called through the door, assuming her to be Evan’s mom.

“No, I’m getting changed.” He yelled back, pulling a random shirt out of the dresser. God, Evan’s clothes looked like he was a white dad going golfing.

“Well, okay, but I need to go to work in a little bit. Try to eat tonight, I left a twenty on the counter, you don’t have to talk to the delivery person! Come on Evan, you can’t skip dinner again. Please, just eat tonight.”

Connor grumbled. He just wanted to be left alone. He just wanted to be able to think in peace, without a stranger’s mom berating him for something he didn’t do. 

A simple “I’ll eat” is all he gave her, throwing as much anger and annoyance into those two words as he could. He didn’t intend to be rude, it just slipped off his tongue before he could think.

A silence covered the house. Connor was too busy brewing his own storm to notice or care, but Evan’s mom stood on the opposite side of the door, silent. She didn’t make any moves for a couple beats, her disappearance almost uncomforting, before speaking again.

“Well, that’s good honey. I guess I’ll…” she trailed off into a nervous laugh. “You sure you’re okay?”

Connor wanted to scream. He wanted this lady off his back. He didn’t want to be awake at this time, his head was pounding trying to make sense of all the conflicting thoughts. Thoughts still lingering from last night, disappointment that he couldn’t even do one thing right, anger at being in this body, frustration at another day ahead of him. He slammed the dresser shut. “I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine.” He fell onto the bed, his head in his hands.

Complete and utter silence followed. The sound of footsteps trailing away from the bedroom door echoed through the hallway, each thud mocking Connor. 

_ I’m such a fuck-up. I spend one morning as someone else and ruin everything for them _ . 

Connor looked down at Evan’s body. Connor raised his arm, and Evan’s body followed. He flexed his hand, and Evan mirrored. He couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of this being his new body. The one he would have to live in for who knows how long, or even worse, for the rest of his life. It was if he was a puppeteer, pulling the strings and having the body following suit rather than him directly wielding the body himself. It was a constant state of dissociation, although he wasn’t too grounded to begin with.

The purr of a car in the driveway snapped Connor out of his thoughts. He glanced at the clock. 6:40. Where the time slipped to was anyone’s guess, and he pulled himself to complete his morning tasks. He just put on the shirt he grabbed earlier, a plain gray t-shirt and threw on a random pair of jeans. It was the outfit closest to his comfort zone. A black zip up jacket peeked out from under the bed, which was quickly thrown on as well as the shoes he was wearing yesterday. As he looked into the mirror, it wasn’t too bad. The jacket made the outfit a tad better, but the body itself made anything completely wrong.

Connor skipped breakfast, already feeling nauseous from his own thoughts. Evan told him he always took the bus to school, as he didn’t have a driver’s license and his mom was always gone way before school. He seemed embarrassed about that fact, although Connor didn’t have a license either. His parents didn’t trust him enough with the freedom to drive anymore or to be sober enough to drive. Zoe or his parents always drove him everywhere, or else he walked. Which he chose the latter in this situation. Mainly because he had never taken the bus before, and didn’t want to start in that mental state. He grabbed Evan’s phone, a model he didn’t recognize, and started his walk to school.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊶

Evan woke up in Connor’s bedroom. He didn’t get much sleep that night, his mind unable to let him have a moment of peace. It was only worsened by the fact that he realized that Connor didn’t have an alarm to wake him up, so what if he slept in? He needed all the time he could get in the morning to try to plan out the day. There was so much that could go wrong. What if Connor’s parents asked him a simple question he didn’t know the answer to? What clothes there are to wear. What morning routines should he do? Would him waking up early be unusual? What about breakfast? Would breakfast take long? How much would he have to fib to make it through? And Connor's classes? 

Evan steadied himself, regaining composure. He supposed now was a good time as any to start the day, as he sure wasn’t falling back asleep. It was 5:45, but he was used to waking up early. His mom would always have to leave early for her shift, plus he would write his letters. And for him to be late to school would be unacceptable.

He swung himself out of the bed, and made his way to the light switch through the battlefield of laundry and trash on the floor. The brilliant light showcased the war crime of a room. Although he knew he was in no position to judge, he was just as messy, just more concealed. The open closet stared him down, Connor’s more aggressive wardrobe was something Evan would have never attempted, it called way too much attention with too much edge, but the fear of him doing something  _ unConnorlike _ far outweighed the fears of the eye-catching wardrobe.

Everything seemed the same. A sea of blacks and greys seemed to blend together, not a single distinct piece of clothing. He grabbed a random shirt of a band he had never heard of before, with some ripped jeans and a jean jacket. All black, of course. The jeans were the strangest to put on, his pale knees on full display. Never before had he worn anything ripped, or anything ripped purely for aesthetic values. He threw back on the pair of shoes he wore last night.

Evan took off his shirt, trying to not look at his body. It was bad enough being reminded when he had a shirt on, but he couldn’t even bear to look at his chest. The feeling of being in the wrong body, in the wrong skin, made him sick to his stomach. He had to turn off the lights so he wouldn’t see himself. 

As he was getting dressed, the clatter of plates rang from below, someone making breakfast, he assumed. Evan looked over at the clock, 6:17. Was it too early to go down for breakfast? Connor didn’t give Evan much to work with other than a  _ just don’t kill yourself _ . At least he was succeeding in that aspect, so far.

Going downstairs meant more time with Connor’s family. And that meant questions, with either meant bullshitting or ignoring or playing dumb. None of those options sounded good. But what if he ran late? That was even worse. He hated running late, whether it was in his own body or someone else’s.

So bullshiting it was.

He left the safety of his bedroom, his heart racing. Evan heard movement in the bathroom as he approached, which quickly silenced as he got closer. The door was left slightly open, and he saw Zoe at the bathroom counter, makeup products on the counter. 

“You’re up early.” She commented, almost accusatory. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Everything was in full panic mode. Her comments seemed to be implying something, although he wasn’t sure what it was. Trying to figure out how to respond was terrifying, as it's so easy to say the wrong thing. What if that was the wrong response? And of course, Zoe made him nervous, no matter the circumstances. He tried to ignore that, considering the implications of the body swap, but the butterflies couldn’t be helped.

Zoe scoffed, rolling her eyes as she applied eyeliner. “Yeah, sure.”

He wasn’t sure what was so hurtful about that. Whether it was the inability to be trusted, or it was Zoe that made that comment, it felt like a punch in the gut. He just quickly nodded and continued on his way to the kitchen. 

As he hopped down the stairs, he realized he didn’t know where the kitchen was, or the layout of the house. Asking where the bathroom is in the house you’ve been living in for seventeen years probably isn’t that great of a move. But the hallway led him into the living room, with the kitchen across the room from him. The house was gorgeous, perfectly decorated with coherent colors, and the house itself must have cost a pretty penny. 

A woman was in the kitchen, frying some eggs, presumably Connor’s mom. And the man who scolded him last night sat at the dining table, sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper. Evan stood still in the hallway, taking it all in. Regret filled him, wishing he was still in his bedroom. 

Connor’s mom turned around, putting the eggs on a platter, and noticed Evan standing in the hallway.

“Connor.” Connor’s mom had a sweet, comforting voice, but there was a bit of shock and almost embarrassment when she said his name. The man looked up from his newspaper at Evan, sighed, and placed it down.

“Connor.” The man repeated. “You can’t stay up every night in who knows where. I mean, do you even think?”

“Larry.” The woman chided. “We need to be constructive.”

“Cynthia, I’m just telling the kid he can’t do that. Besides, when has being constructive ever helped? Look at him.”

This was all too much for Evan. The scolding, the babying, being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room. Taking the fall for someone else’s actions. What was he supposed to say?  _ Oh no sir, see I’m not your son. I’m actually the kid your son pushed to the ground at school the other day and yelled at because we were in the computer lab together. So sorry for any confusion! _

Oh god.

The letter.

Evan completely forgot about it in the chaos of everything else. But he was fine. Connor had the letter, and now he was in control of Connor. Everything would be fine. But what if he sent the letter to someone else? Connor still had the knowledge that he wrote weird letters to himself. That alone was bad enough.

“Connor, are you okay?” 

_ No. _

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

The world was closing in on him. The room seemed so large moments ago, and now it was shrinking in on him. He couldn’t breathe. Something brushed past him, and he jumped back. Zoe nudged past him, shooting him a death glare.

“What’s up with him? He’s been weird all morning.”

“ _ Zoe! _ You need to be kinder to your brother. Both of you need to be nicer to Connor.” She shot her husband a glare, which he brushed off with a grumble as he hid in the newspaper again. Evan followed Zoe to the breakfast table, despite not having any appetite. A plate of eggs and bacon was placed in front of him. An empty cup was on his right, and a couple various juices and milks were placed in the middle of the table.

It was completely bizarre. Normally his mother would leave the house so that they only had a brief conversation, and Evan was left to fend for himself for breakfast. Normally it was a plain bagel or a bowl of cereal, never a large homemade breakfast like this. He didn’t realize people actually ate like this, he thought it was just something that those quirky families on Disney Channel Original movies did.

While he had no appetite, he stuffed the eggs and bacon down his throat. His plate seemed smaller than the rest of the family, which he appreciated as each bite seemed to sink his stomach further. Although he tried his best, it was impossible to finish his plate. He felt so guilty for wasting the food, as his mother always told him to finish food given to him. No one at the table seemed to mind.

There was very little chatter at the table. Everyone seemed to occupy themselves, whether in a newspaper, cleaning dishes, or simply in their own head. Which was fine by Evan. He already felt sick without further conversation.

Larry got up from the table, announcing that traffic was bad enough already and really should be heading out. Zoe followed soon, telling Evan he better hurry or else she would leave him. Cynthia scolded her for that comment, but Zoe didn’t acknowledge her. For a moment it was Evan and Cynthia alone at the table, before Evan excused himself as well. He needed to leave that table or else he felt as if he would suffocate. He didn’t have much time to recover, Zoe was his ride and she wasn’t waiting for him. All Evan had time to do was to sit out in his bedroom for a couple of minutes, before heading back downstairs to grab Connor’s bookbag and jumped into Zoe’s car.

Zoe didn’t acknowledge his presence in the car, she only looked forward as she pulled away from the curb. She flicked on the radio to a classic rock station, her fingers drumming on the wheel to the beat of the song. None of them spoke for the entirety of the drive, only leaving a heavy silence between the two. Evan attempted to say something, but Zoe turned the radio up right as he was about to speak, and whether that was intentional or coincidental was a mystery to Evan.


End file.
